Shishir Baxi writes Shishir Baxi is an advertising professional based in Dubai. When not exploring the sky through an empty glass, he writes about the wine universe. Having lived in ten countries across three continents, he is fascinated by what happens when wine leaves its traditional homes and settles somewhere new - behaving, in essence, like any other immigrant. He prefers to focus on the human behaviours around the bottle: how wine is chosen, interpreted, and sometimes entirely misread. Stellar Pairings is an attempt to map these eccentricities by fusing astronomy with astrology - two systems that describe the same sky but not the same truth - on the slightly unsettling assumption that finding the right wine at the right moment often feels like more than coincidence. A fluent French speaker and WSET Level 2 certificate holder, he writes the weekly column The Second Pour by Baxicius, where wine travels, lands, and occasionally misbehaves in emerging markets.
Stellar pairings
I have always been sceptical of astrology, which is to say I have only ever consulted it during moments of complete panic.
When life is proceeding smoothly, I am perfectly capable of dismissing the notion that a giant ball of gas several hundred million kilometres away has any influence over my career, relationships, or chances of finding a parking space in Dubai. Yet introduce uncertainty, a deadline, or an unexplained ache in the soul, and suddenly I am willing to entertain the possibility that Saturn has been meddling.
The curious thing is that wine asks us to accept an equally improbable proposition.
We happily believe that fermented grape juice can alter our mood, influence our decisions, summon memories, or even change the course of an evening. Entire relationships have begun because of a bottle. Others have ended because of one. If planets supposedly shape our fortunes from afar, perhaps wines do something similar from much closer range.
Last week, Venus and Jupiter appeared side by side in the skies above Dubai - a conjunction, astronomers call it. Paired, in other words. It seemed too convenient to ignore. So, that warm summer night beneath a desert sky, I found myself wondering which wine could accompany planetary influences on my life.
Mercury arrived first, as it always does.
Mercury is youth. It is movement mistaken for progress and confidence mistaken for wisdom. It governs those years when every decision feels urgent and every wrong turn somehow becomes part of the adventure. Under Mercury’s influence, one does not make sensible choices. One books flights, changes careers, falls in love with unsuitable people and mistakes momentum for destiny.
Its wine can only be a young Assyrtiko. Sharp, electric and incapable of sitting still, it attacks the palate with the enthusiasm of someone who has not yet learned the value of restraint.
Venus follows. The ancients saw beauty. Astronomers later discovered a sulphuric inferno capable of melting lead.
There is a lesson in that.
Venus governs attraction, temptation, and the dangerous habit of believing first impressions. Under Venus, one purchases expensive shoes, sends regrettable messages after midnight, and develops passionate convictions about people one barely knows.
Here we have Gewürztraminer, fragrant with roses and lychees, which arrives like a beautifully written apology from someone who absolutely intends to disappoint you later.
Earth appears next, though we rarely notice it for obvious reasons.
Earth’s gift is contradiction. It governs mortgages and marriages, compromises and routines, all the things that seem unbearably mundane until they disappear.
Earth belongs to red Burgundy. Not because Burgundy is perfect, but because it is endlessly, infuriatingly complicated. Fruit, earth, spice, acidity and fragility coexist without any one element taking control. Under Earth’s influence, we discover that happiness rarely arrives with fanfare. More often, it sneaks in disguised as ordinary life.
Mars sits beyond, glowing with the confidence of a motivational speaker who has never experienced failure.
Mars governs ambition. Not achievement. Ambition. The distinction matters.
Nebbiolo waits on Mars. A grape powered almost entirely by promise. Young Nebbiolo spends years hinting at greatness while stubbornly refusing to deliver it immediately. Under Mars, we launch projects, write business plans, join gyms and convince ourselves that next year will finally be our year.
Jupiter, meanwhile, has no interest in modesty. Everything about it is excessive. Storms the size of planets. Gravity capable of bending entire worlds to its will.
If Jupiter were bottled, it would surely emerge as a Napa Cabernet. It enters the room expecting respect, speaks in the language of authority, and occasionally confuses volume for wisdom. Under Jupiter’s influence, promotions arrive, reputations grow, and dinner conversations become slightly longer than they need to be.
The danger is that Jupiter can make us believe we are larger than we really are. Most fortunes eventually discover gravity.
Saturn understands this better than anyone.
Its rings create an illusion of effortless beauty, but beneath them lies relentless structure and discipline. Saturn governs maturity, responsibility, and the unpleasant discovery that every worthwhile achievement comes with paperwork.
Saturn finds its reflection in Vintage Champagne. The world associates Champagne with celebration, but great Champagne is really about precision. Every bubble, every note of toast and citrus, every year spent ageing quietly in darkness contributes to the final result. Under Saturn’s influence, one learns that freedom is often built through discipline rather than rebellion.
Uranus arrives tilted dramatically on its side, having apparently decided that conformity was somebody else’s problem.
Orange wine feels almost inevitable here. Sometimes brilliant. Sometimes baffling. Frequently both at once.
Uranus governs reinvention. It appears whenever life becomes too predictable. Under its influence, sensible professionals abandon corporate careers to open bakeries, respectable adults take up pottery, and perfectly rational wine drinkers begin enthusiastically explaining skin contact fermentation to trapped dinner guests.
Not every eccentric decision succeeds. That is hardly the point.
And then, finally, there is Neptune.
I will not pair Neptune with a wine.
Neptune governs longing - not for things we have lost, but for things we were never entirely sure existed in the first place. It is the planet of the question that has no answer, the glass you remember more vividly than any you could name. Some pairings resist completion. Neptune taught me that.
By this point, my personal fortune was becoming alarmingly clear.
Mercury explained the mistakes. Venus explained the relationships. Mars accounted for the ambitions. Jupiter justified the ego. Saturn revealed the work. Uranus excused the detours. Neptune illuminated the questions that still remain unanswered.
And Earth, sitting patiently between them all, explained everything else.
The astrologers may be right after all. Perhaps our lives are shaped by forces beyond our control. I simply suspect they have been looking in the wrong direction.
The planets are far away, silent and indifferent.
The wines are already here, sitting patiently on our tables, charting our character with every glass.
Published unedited and in accordance with the rules of the competition published here.
