My personal relationship with wine - and a Jancis Robinson win

 

The last blog of our November series on “Building your personal relationship with wine” is very personal. In October 2025, I became the first Indian (and also the first UAE resident) to win the Jancis Robinson Wine Writing Competition. The piece that won? Monsoon Diaries with Riesling – in which I wrote about how Riesling can shine in the Indian monsoon, paired with decadent, deep fried and deliciously spicy Indian food. I described the sheer joy of pairing Riesling with vada-pav. Not exactly Bordeaux terroir, I agree.

The competition brief was deceptively simple: write an ode to a grape. My choice of Riesling, the mercurial diva of the wine world, proposed that this grape, with its high‑wire acidity and mood swings, belongs alongside onion fritters, rain‑slick streets, and the chaos of a season that refuses to be tamed. It was, in essence, rain in a bottle. The judges agreed, including Hugh Johnson OBE, whose World Atlas of Wine has been the bible for six decades, and Jancis Robinson OBE, described as the most respected wine critic and journalist in the world.

This award mattered to me because it recognised a new voice, from a new market. It agreed with my point of view that clarity, originality, and an unabashedly irreverent take on this divine beverage are as important as the heritage and history of this seven thousand year old grape expression.

It told me that wine writing doesn’t have to be a spreadsheet of scores or a catalogue of soil types. It can be a story, a scene, a memory. And it underlined that the readers aren’t looking for another dry recital of tannins; they’re looking for a reason to care.

What lessons from this award can I share with you?

Your story beats their scores. Wine isn't about 92 points. It's about the Kabinett you drank on a wet, foggy day; the Malbec at your first date; the Prosecco that saved a terrible dinner party. Those stories matter. That's your relationship with wine. My win proves it - judges chose a personal story over technical analysis.

Your voice deserves its space. For years, wine writing sounded like textbooks. Dry. Authoritative. Boring. But wine is alive, weird, surprising. If your Chardonnay tastes like "grandma's living room in August," go right ahead and say it. If your Pinot feels moody, own it. Your voice - your specific, cultural, unfiltered voice - is valid. My monsoon piece won because it sounded like me. Yours should sound like you.

Wine Reflects your world: You don't need to copy the Old World. Pair wine with whatever you're actually eating. Let your culture shape your wine experience. Riesling with vada-pav isn't weird - it's honest. The judges got it. You should too.

Wine is not just about terroir and tannins. It’s about people, places, and the stories you share. It is about the freedom to experiment, the courage to defend your taste, and the instinct to use your voice to build bridges across cultures. Because if wine writing is going to matter in new markets, it has to go beyond notes.

Winning the Jancis Robinson Wine Writing Competition wasn’t the end of a journey. It was the start of a chapter where wine writing is less about encyclopaedic authority and more about cultural affinity. When they announced my name, I felt something shift. Not just pride - validation. That the way I see wine - through seasons and street food, through laughter and cultural memory - wasn't niche. It was necessary. And if my voice mattered in this competition, maybe it meant that other voices from India, Thailand, Kenya, wherever - they matter too.

 

Whether you're in Mumbai pairing Prosecco with pakoras, in Bangkok discovering natural wines, or in Nairobi building your first collection - you're not learning to appreciate their wine culture. You're building your own. Your taste is valid. Your voice is what matters. Your culture belongs in wine conversation. You don't need permission from Burgundy to enjoy wine your way.

So here's my commitment as I pour again: to build a voice that respects the Old World, champions the New, and keeps dismantling snobbery one sarcastic line at a time. And to remind readers - whether in Mumbai, Dubai, or Burgundy - that wine is best enjoyed when it feels like rain in a bottle, laughter in a glass, and has a story worth telling.

That's what a personal relationship with wine looks like. And that, really, is worth celebrating.

 

 

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

Wine etiquette for real people: skip the snobbery, keep the skills

 

My first taste of champagne was from a saucer - chipped, heavy, and better suited for strong tea. As a breach of etiquette, it ranked up there with putting your arm around the Queen’s shoulders. But it was ignored because the gathering was a bohemian after‑party, the kind where someone strummed a sitar and someone else’s ex declaimed Proust. No one flinched. And yet, the wine was good. Not because of the glassware, but because someone had chosen it with care and poured it without ceremony.

Fast forward to today’s wine‑curious cities - Nairobi, Bangalore, Jakarta - where young professionals are building their own rituals around wine. These are markets that value etiquette not as performance, but as respect. Respect for ingredients, for history, for the person across the table. And while the old guard may scoff at the idea of wine culture blooming outside Burgundy, the truth is: the new wave is not just catching up - it’s rewriting the rules.

Traditional wine etiquette, the kind whispered through generations of sommeliers and silver service staff, is built on precision. Glass shape matters. Temperature matters. The angle of the pour, the order of service, the way you hold the stem - these are not just affectations. They’re half tradition, half science – technique dressed as manners. But when these rituals pour into new markets, they don’t arrive untouched. They blend. They adapt. They learn to speak the local language - sometimes literally.

In Dubai, you might see a Bordeaux poured with reverence into a tulip glass, followed by a toast that includes three languages and a nod to the chef. In Bangalore, a bottle of Sangiovese might be opened with surgical precision, then paired with jackfruit tacos and served on a terrace where the playlist swings from Lata Mangeshkar to Lizzo. These aren’t breaches of etiquette. It’s evolution.

Real wine etiquette, stripped of its silver service origins, looks different now. It looks like

knowing when to chill your reds - not because a Frenchman told you to, but because your rooftop is 38 degrees and your guests deserve better than lukewarm tannins. It looks like offering the first pour to your guest, not because it’s tradition, but because it’s courtesy. It looks like asking questions, listening to answers, and not pretending to know the difference between Côte‑Rôtie and Crozes‑Hermitage unless you actually do.

It does not look like correcting someone’s pronunciation of “Mourvèdre” at a dinner party – loudly or pianissimo. It does not look like sniffing the cork as if it holds secrets. And it absolutely does not look like gatekeeping - because nothing kills conversation faster than a lecture disguised as hospitality.

And here’s the part nobody likes to say out loud: wine etiquette also means knowing when to stop. Wine is for pleasure, not performance marketing. Nobody’s dazzled by the guest who mistakes stamina for sophistication. And if you don’t drink at all, for reasons of health, faith, preference, or simply because you’d rather have sparkling water with a slice of lime, say so. Real etiquette respects the choice, and the company moves on without fuss.

The beauty of wine etiquette everywhere is that it’s built by people who care. People who read the label, ask the origin, respect the winemaker. People who want to know what makes a wine biodynamic, not just whether it’s “good.” This isn’t snobbery. It’s curiosity. And it’s the best kind.

So if you’re just finding your feet with wine, don’t overthink it. Start with your own taste - if you like it, it’s already doing its job. The right glass helps, of course, but nobody’s grading you if you’re drinking from whatever’s clean (avoid filter coffee tumblers, though.) Temperature matters, but don’t show up with a thermometer at brunch. Fill your glass sensibly - half a gulp, not a swimming pool. Swirl if you must, but keep it subtle; nobody needs a splash of modern art across their pristine shirt front. And above all, do not fake enthusiasm for something just because it’s expensive. Wine is meant to be enjoyed, not endured. Or rated.

Etiquette is not about being correct. It’s also about being considerate. And if someone insists that wine is only valid when served with a twirled moustache and in a crystal decanter, smile, raise your glass, and offer them a second pour.

Real wine etiquette isn't only about the right glass. It's about the right company. And sometimes, a chipped saucer will work very nicely too, thank you very much.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.
Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

Instinct: the key tool for buying the wine you like

 

This month’s all about you: finding your wine personality, building your personal wine cellar. This week we will show you how to let your instinct and likes guide your wine buying.

Wine buying is not a science. Or a test of character. It’s a moment - usually rushed, sometimes planned - when you decide which bottle goes home with you. And unless you’re a négociant or a spreadsheeter with a cellar that requires a security code, instinct is your most reliable tool.

Not ratings. Not apps. Not the guy at the store who says “this one’s very expressive.” Just that little voice in your mind that whispers, “Remember the petrichor when you were drinking that Sula Chenin Blanc?”

Instinct is what kicks in when you’re standing in front of a shelf with 37 bottles without any idea what you’re in the mood for. It’s what helps you ignore the label that looks like a failed art school project and reach for the one that just feels right.

Instinct can be honed. But first, it needs to be trusted.

Most wine buyers - especially in newer markets - navigate imported snobbery, local confusion, and the occasional wine that tastes like it was bottled during a thunderstorm. And suddenly you’re convinced you should know more. Learn to pronounce “Tempranillo” without giggling. Justify why the Chilean red felt right.

Hold it right there. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. Buying wine is not Swan Lake. It’s a decision. And the only person you need to impress is yourself.

Instinct builds when you start noticing patterns. The South African Pinotage that worked with the noodles. The Italian red with the weird label that turned out brilliant. The rosé you didn’t expect to like but finished embarrassingly quickly. You realise you’re not a “Rioja person” or an “organic wine person.” You’re someone who likes balance, texture, and wines that don’t put you to sleep.

Over time, instinct sharpens. You stop buying to prove something, and start buying because it simply fits - your mood, your meal, your sense of adventure. It’s liberating once you feel that shift.

And that’s where your rhythm comes in.

Wine buying has rhythm. The shelves you scan first. The importers you quietly trust. Thelittle shortcuts you invent without realising it. The understanding that sometimes a screwcap is a blessing, not a compromise - especially on a Wednesday.

And price? A number, not a personality. Buy a $10 bottle without apology. A $100 bottle without ceremony. The only thing that matters is why you’re buying it - not to impress or posture, just to drink. And yes, sometimes “just because” is a perfectly respectable reason.

Your collection doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else. It can hold a ₹900 impulse buy next to a ₹9,000 moment of ambition. Bottles you’ve never heard of and bottles you’ve bought three times. A wine that confused you the first time, but feels like a small personal victory the second. Wines that don’t match your “profile” - because your profile is allowed to change whenever you do.

You’re not curating a museum. You’re stocking a life.

Oh yes, you’ll buy badly. We all do. You’ll pick something that tastes like it was aged in a gym locker. You’ll open it in front of people you like and wish you hadn’t. You’ll learn. You’ll move on. You’ll buy better next time.

That’s not failure. That’s fluency. Or progress.

Instinct isn’t perfect. It’s personal. It’s what separates the buyer who panics and grabs the bottle with the gold foil from the buyer who pauses, scans, and picks the one that just feels right - even if it’s got a jumping kangaroo on it.

And if you’re still wondering whether instinct is enough, here’s the truth: most wine professionals use it too. They just dress it up in jargon. “Structure,” “typicity,” “mid-palate tension,” “tastes like powdered pine needles” - these are just fancy ways of saying, “I’ve tasted enough to know what I like, and this feels right.”

You can do the same. Without the vocabulary. Without the validation. Without the performance.

So, here’s the real advice: trust yourself. Ignore the noise. Forget the pressure. You’re not building a legacy. You’re just trying to make Thursday taste better. And if it works for you - your mood, your meal, your moment - then you’ve nailed it.

No notes. No shame. No imposter syndrome.

Just go grab a bottle and stop overthinking it.

Your wine. Your way.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.
Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

 

Build a personal wine collection (without owning a cellar)

 

My first 'wine collection' was in Dubai - three bottles wrapped in a thick towel inside a cupboard. A Stellenbosch which looked angry. A Prosecco I bought on sale by mistake. A Bordeaux I was scared to open. Two of them were mistakes. One became my go-to.

That's how this works - you learn by drinking, not reading.

But in wine markets like India, Southeast Asia, and Dubai, the idea of a “personal wine collection” still carries a whiff of colonial fantasy - something reserved for retired diplomats and people who say things like “I only drink claret.”

But here’s the twist: building a collection isn’t about hoarding bottles or chasing prestige. It’s about knowing what you like, why you like it, and having a few bottles on hand that make you feel prepared for any occasion, from date night to meltdown.

Why build a collection at all?

Let’s address the elephant in the tasting room: can’t you just pop down to the nearest wine shop when you need a bottle? Of course you can. And you probably will. But here’s the thing - most wine shops stock what sells, not what sings. If your palate leans towards a smoky Syrah or a nervy Albariño, chances are you’ll be met with a wall of Cabernet and a cashier who thinks “dry” means “not fruity.”

A personal collection gives you control. It’s your curated stash of joy, your liquid playlist. It lets you explore styles, regions, and moods without relying on the whims of local inventory. It also gives you bragging rights - because nothing says “I know what I’m pouring” quite like casually referencing your stock of South African Chenin Blanc, aged just enough to sound impressive.

Start small, sip smart

You don’t need 200 bottles. You don’t even need 20. Start with six to twelve wines that cover a range of moods, styles and occasions.

Begin with the weeknight warriors - affordable, drink-now bottles like a Sula Sauvignon Blanc or Chilean Merlot. They pair beautifully with whatever’s left of your ambition after 8 PM.

Add a couple of conversation starters - quirky varietals or unexpected regions (hello, Thai Shiraz) that make guests pause mid-sip. Then a bubbly for those nights when the guest list includes both vegans and vintage stamp collectors. And if you’re patient, a red or two that might actually taste wiser next year.

Buy in pairs - one to drink now, one to save for later. Because wine changes. That Shiraz that’s jammy today might be balanced and brooding in six months. It’s the wine equivalent of journaling - except you get to see how both you and the wine have evolved. And one of you will definitely age better.

Storage: the unsexy truth

Wine is sensitive - it doesn’t like heat, light, or humidity. Which makes most of Asia about as

wine-friendly as a sauna. But that doesn’t mean you can’t store your wine and drink it too.

• 
  Find a cool, dark spot: A cupboard away from direct sunlight and heat. Not the kitchen.
• Avoid temperature swings: Wine hates drama. Keep it stable - ideally between 12–18°C.
• Humidity matters: Too dry and corks shrink; too humid and labels mould. Aim for 60–70% if you’re fancy. If not, just don’t store it next to your idli steamer.
• Invest in a wine fridge: If you’re serious, this is your best bet. Compact models are available, and they’re cheaper than therapy.

Buying without bleeding

You don’t need to bankrupt yourself to build a collection. Here’s how to stay liquid:

• Look beyond France: Great wine comes from everywhere. Portugal, South Africa, Argentina, or even India’s own Nashik Valley. A Bordeaux will add gravitas even if it’s not your style.
• Shop online: Many platforms offer curated selections, discounts, and tasting notes that aren’t written by robots.
• Follow importers and indie stores: Every city has that one wine shop that looks half asleep but hides treasures behind the Rioja wall. For instance, LivingLiquidz (India), Wine Connection (Singapore), African+Eastern (Dubai), Wine Connection (Thailand).
• Ignore ratings: Your palate doesn’t care what someone else thinks.

 

Final sip

Building a collection isn't about having wine. It's about having YOUR wine - bottles you chose, not bottles the shop pushed. It's knowing that when Friday hits and you're too tired to decide, you've already decided. Past You was looking out for Present You. That's not hoarding. That's self-care with a cork.

And if all else fails, just drink it. You can always start again.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

Finding your wine personality: what you could actually like (and why)

 

Personality. Personal. Person. Same root, different vibes. Our first post in the November series is about making wine personal - not performative.

A truth most sommeliers won’t admit? Wine is confusing. Not because it’s complex (it is), but because the industry insists on describing it like a perfume ad written by a poet with a thesaurus complex. “Hints of forest floor and crushed violets”? Please. Most of us just want to know: do I like this, or do I want to discreetly pour it into the nearest pot plant?

This isn’t about memorising grape varieties or pretending to detect minerality. It’s about figuring out what you enjoy - and why your palate might prefer a juicy Shiraz over a flinty Chablis, or vice versa.

So let’s start by dropping the snobbery. You don’t need a wine fridge, a swan-shaped decanter or a diploma in viticulture. You need curiosity, a functioning nose, and the courage to say “I do not like this” even if it’s a 95-pointer from Napa. Wine is personal. Your taste isn’t wrong - it’s just yours.

Flavour-wise, wine tends to hang out in a few familiar neighbourhoods. You’ll start recognising them once you’ve had a few glasses and a few regrets:
• Fruity & soft: Think Merlot, Pinot Noir, Beaujolais. Low tannins, red fruit, easy-drinking. If you like strawberry jam and hate bitterness, start here.
• Bold & spicy: Shiraz, Malbec, Zinfandel. Big flavours, black fruit, pepper, sometimes smoke. Ideal if you enjoy barbecue, dark chocolate, or drama.
• Crisp & zesty: Sauvignon Blanc, Albariño, dry Riesling. High acidity, citrus notes, refreshing. Great with seafood, sarcasm, and humid weather.
• Creamy & buttery: Oaked Chardonnay, Viognier. Rich texture, tropical fruit, vanilla. If you like buttered toast and spa days, this is your zone.
• Earthy & complex: Bordeaux blends, Barolo, Burgundy. Tannins, structure, layers. Best appreciated slowly, like jazz or your in-laws.

Tasting, by the way, isn’t a polite nod of vague approval. It’s a full-body experience. You observe, you inhale, you let it sit. Then you decide whether it’s love at first sip, or a polite pass.
• Look: Is it pale or inky? Clear or cloudy? If it looks like Ribena, it probably tastes like Ribena.
• Sniff: Stick your nose in. Don’t be shy. What do you smell? Fruit? Spice? Wet cardboard? (That’s a fault, by the way.)
• Sip: Let it coat your mouth. Is it sharp, soft, bitter, sweet? Does it punch you or hug you?
• React: Do you want another sip? Or a palate cleanse and a beer?

Once you’ve started tasting, start tracking. A wine journal doesn’t need to be a spreadsheet - unless you’re that kind of person. Just jot down what you liked, what you disliked, and why. Add context: the weather, the mood, who you were with. Over time, patterns will emerge. Maybe you love wines from Chile. Perhaps you loathe anything oaky. Or you’re secretly into rosé and just need permission to admit it.

And remember, pairing isn’t just for food. Your wine personality is also about context. Something crisp after a long day? A bold vintage for a dinner? Maybe a pink for a brunch with questionable intent? Wine isn’t static - it’s mood-based. Your preferences will shift. That’s normal. That’s human. Because you are.

Of course, there are a few common missteps worth dodging:

• Buying by label design: Yes, the label looks like a tattoo display. No, that doesn’t mean it’s good.
• Assuming expensive = better: Sometimes true. Often not. Plenty of sub-$20 wines punch above their weight.
• Over-indexing on ratings: Critics are useful. But they’re not you. Trust your own palate.
• Ignoring local options: Indian Sula, Thai Monsoon Valley, Vietnamese Da Lat - these aren’t novelties. They’re part of your wine landscape.

In places like India, Southeast Asia, and the UAE, wine culture is still evolving. That’s a gift. You’re not bound by tradition or snobbery. You get to build your own relationship with wine - one that reflects your tastes, your food, your climate, and your social rituals. We’re not binning centuries of Old World wisdom; we’re just pairing it with reality: new markets, new moods, new tastes.

So stop sommeliers telling you what “forest floors” taste like. Because just who knows what a forest floor tastes like? And you couldn’t care less. Taste widely. Ask questions. Reject what doesn’t work. Celebrate what does.

And when someone asks what kind of wine you like, don't say 'red' or 'white.' Say: 'The kind I finish.' That's all the personality you need.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.