Remembering Kulbir Kaila

Interview and translations by: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer

Written by: Petra Chase, Features Editor

Kulbir Kaila worked at SFU for 17 years. On July 28, she died at the age of 61 while working a cleaning shift on the Burnaby campus. Many of her co-workers never knew SFU without Kaila. She had one son, who visited her twice a week at her home in Surrey. Her coworkers said she was funny, hardworking, caring, and deeply valued her friendships and family. She visited her brother and sister often. Her brother, Hardeep Johal, remembers Kaila for her big heart. “She was very generous and loyal, one of the most honest people you’ve ever met,” he told The Tyee.

Since her passing, her loved ones have been grappling with life without her. Memories of Kaila’s life were shared with The Peak by two of her coworkers, who were “like sisters,” Ravneet and Noorpreet. These names have been changed for anonymity.

“I still can’t believe Kulbir is gone,” Noorpreet said in Hindi. She passes by the place of Kaila’s death every day during her shifts. “It always feels to me as if Kulbir is still there, just around the corner.”

Only a few days prior to her passing, Kaila had come over to Noorpreet’s house. She described Kaila’s playful and comfortable relationship with her family, how she’d tease Noorpreet’s husband by saying he looked “worn out” and jokingly ask her daughter when she was going to get married. Noorpreet’s son, upon seeing Kaila in their home, would scold her: “Auntie, you didn’t tell me [you were coming]. I would have brought something for you,” he’d say.

“That is how we would joke,” Noorpreet said. “She was like family to us.”

“The two of us had the same story,” is how Ravneet described their friendship. “Work together, take breaks together, leave together. We used to share everything with each other.” She explained how they’d often vent to each other over the phone about work, sometimes calling each other 10 times a day.

A group of five of them would eat lunch every day, becoming closer over the years of working together. Like a family, “we used to sit at one table, and everyone would show what they had brought,” said Noorpreet. “We all ate together, roti and all kinds of dishes.

“Sometimes I brought gajar ka halwa [a carrot dessert]. And sometimes I brought tomato chutney. Then Kulbir would say to me, ‘Sister, how do you make this? How do you make this?’”

“She treated everyone kindly,” Ravneet said. “If they were younger, she treated them like kids, and if they were older, she would joke with them like adults.”

For Noorpreet, Kulbir’s generosity always stood out. She recalled when she was running late for a meeting, and had to drop off her lunch bag in the staff room: “Kaila said, ‘Sister, I’ve left the generator room door open. You put your bag there, I’ll come and close it afterwards.’ This kind of conversation used to happen every day. “Sometimes I used to leave my bag there because I had to go punch in. She’d say, ‘Don’t rush, go slowly, I’ll come slowly too.’ That’s how she was, always caring. We shared a lot between us.”

On the day of Kaila’s death, Noorpreet was not at work. She received a call from Kaila in the morning, who was “very tense” about the workload expected of her that day. Kaila was increasingly scared due to the strained work environment with management and the fear of surveillance. “She wouldn’t even sit for two minutes to drink water,” Ravneet said. “She was always afraid.” In a statement to The Peak, Chris Moore, the CEO of BEST Service Pros, said, they “unconditionally refute” they foster a culture of fear.

When Noorpreet called Kaila again that day at 4:00 p.m., there was no reply. Instead, she received a call from another colleague a little later. “I said, ‘Tell me what happened,’” Noorpreet recalled. “Then she said, ‘Auntie, Kulbir has passed away.’ Oh my God! I can’t even tell you.

“She passed away on Monday, and when I came to work on Tuesday, I cried so much.”

The two also described their frustrations with their management as they tried to advocate for better conditions for Kulbir. For example, they encouraged Kaila to get a doctor’s note so she didn’t have to clean the stairs with an injured leg. For a long time, she had asked to be transferred to Surrey, as her daily commute was two hours long, but her requests were denied.

“Punjabis understand a little that there is such compulsion [to work] in our culture,” Ravneet said, explaining the struggle to afford living expenses in Canada. “[We feel like] the work should not be missed. People are afraid [to speak up.] Many times, we feel obliged/forced because we are afraid to lose our jobs. We feel very helpless. And we suffer a lot.”

“There’s no one you can complain to who will actually change things. Nowhere, even after so many years,” Noorpreet added. “Things were so bad, and then someone died. What’s the use after that? Now, poor Kulbir is gone. She can’t come back. She had been with us for so many years.”

So, they would turn to each other when they didn’t receive support from their employers. “When I would arrive, Kaila would already keep the cart (with cleaning supplies) ready for me,” Noorpreet continued.

“She worked for such a long time, did such hard work, and even lost her life at work,” said Ravneet.