I was super excited about my Himachal Pradesh trip, especially the much-hyped toy train ride from Kalka to Shimla! I had heard so much about how magical the journey is—those breathtaking views, the old-world charm, and of course, the famous 103 tunnels (well, 102 are still active). And then there was the star of the show—Tunnel 33, the Barog Tunnel, the longest of them all!
As I hopped onto the train, my excitement was through the roof. The journey began, and with every tunnel, my curiosity grew. First tunnel—whoosh! Then the second, the third, and so on. I was completely lost in the beauty of the mountains when, just as we were approaching Tunnel 28, I overheard some fellow passengers whispering about Tunnel 33. "Wahi tunnel hai jisme Colonel Barog ka bhoot dikhta hai," one of them muttered. "Kehte hain, jo bhi andar ruk jaye, use ajeeb awazein sunai deti hain," another added, his voice barely above a whisper.
I felt a shiver run down my spine. Ghost stories? In the middle of my dream toy train ride? This was getting interesting. I leaned in closer, pretending to admire the view, but my ears were glued to their conversation. Curious, I asked, "What’s so special about Tunnel 33?" A lady waved her hand dramatically and said, "Child, this tunnel isn’t just a tunnel… it’s an unfinished story!" I frowned. "Unfinished?" She leaned in and whispered, "Because the man who built it... could never complete it. He was buried inside."
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I asked the lady, "If he was buried, then how is this tunnel even complete?" But before she could answer, her attention shifted—her little grandson was tugging at her sleeve, desperately needing a bathroom break. Just like that, my burning question was left unanswered, hanging in the air like a half-told ghost story. I was determined to uncover the story behind Tunnel No. 33 Shimla.
Frustrated and still curious, I leaned back in my seat. The train rattled on, but my mind was stuck on Tunnel 33. With barely a flicker of network, I did what any modern-day detective would—I Googled. And there it was, the name that sent a chill down my spine—Colonel Barog!
The Kalka-Shimla railway was a marvel in the making, and among the many tasked with bringing it to life was Colonel Barog—a British engineer with a grand vision. His assignment? To carve a tunnel through the mighty Himalayas, ensuring a seamless route for the toy train. Confident in his expertise, he devised a bold plan: dig from both ends and meet in the middle. A brilliant idea, except for one fatal flaw—his calculations were wrong.
As weeks turned into months, laborers toiled day and night, chipping away at the mountains from both sides. But when the two ends were supposed to meet, they were hopelessly misaligned. The tunnel was a failure.
The news spread like wildfire, and the British government, in a fit of rage, fined Colonel Barog for wasting resources. The British authorities, unimpressed by his error, fined him a single rupee—not a huge amount, but enough to shame a man of his stature. The humiliation was unbearable. Once a name spoken with respect, it became a subject of ridicule—and eventually, something far more tragic.
