#16 Finding Light in the Aftermath: Meeting Dinesh

Two weeks after Tok Borhan passed away, my father went to our village to speak with Encik Saad. A retired lawyer living just across the lake from Grandmother’s house, Encik Saad is a respected figure in the community, though not without controversy—his local land acquisitions, including a plot once owned by the late Tok Bongsu (Grandmother’s youngest brother), and the grand house he built overlooking the village lake and mountains have been a local talking point for years.

Given his background and his own experience managing palm oil estates, my father sought his advice on our sudden predicament. Encik Saad offered a crucial warning: there might be an overlap or conflict between the lands previously managed by Tok Borhan and those managed by another local operator. He advised my father to meet this individual as a first step to clear the air. His name was Dinesh.

A Surprising Encounter in Serdang
When I returned from abroad a week later, my father shared this conversation over breakfast and asked if I would meet Dinesh. I agreed. A quick phone call later, we arranged to meet the very next day at a café in Serdang, Selangor, where we happened to be relatively close by.

Dinesh, likely in his early-to-mid 40s, immediately broke any initial tension. To our genuine surprise, despite not being Malay, he spoke fluent Negeri Sembilan dialect and addressed my father respectfully as “Acik”—a familiar local term for an elder. He explained that managing palm oil estates across Negeri Sembilan is his full-time profession. During the week, he lives and works among the farms; on weekends, he returns to Serdang to be with his family.

To sort out any potential overlaps, I brought a complete list of Grandmother’s land titles. As I went through them one by one, Dinesh confirmed that he did not manage any of those specific plots. It was a huge relief—there was no territorial conflict between us.

Exploring Paths Forward
With the slate clean, I asked if he might be open to a joint venture to manage Grandmother’s land, similar to the arrangement we had hoped to build with Tok Borhan.

Dinesh was transparently hesitant. He explained that he prefers a straightforward lease model—taking a plot for a set period, typically 10 years, and paying a regular lease to the owner—or handling specific farm tasks based on his availability. When I pressed gently to see if a joint venture could still be on the table given the right offer, he shared a past lesson: he had once partnered with a “sleeping partner” who grew suspicious during low-yield seasons, accusing him of skimming profits. He had learned to avoid arrangements that invited distrust.

Understanding and respecting his perspective, I pivoted to asking about his day rates for specific operational tasks: clearing weeds, applying herbicide, pruning fronds, and harvesting. He broke down the standard market rates for labor and transport, giving me a clearer picture of the operational economics.

Finally, I mentioned our next major hurdle: getting a professional surveyor to properly mark the unclear boundaries of Grandmother’s land. Dinesh listened, though he offered an alternative, suggesting we could simply paint the perimeter trees. While I remained skeptical and intent on hiring professional surveyors first, I appreciated his practical input.

In the wake of Tok Borhan’s unexpected passing, I walked away from that meeting feeling a profound sense of relief. Thanks to my father’s initiative in consulting Encik Saad, we were no longer navigating the dark alone. We had a new contact, a clear picture of our boundaries, and viable options for the road ahead.