When Osama bin Laden finally departed for the great sheikhdom above, you could not but help tip your hat to the ever-watchful vigil kept by sentinels of the information age. Even as US helicopters circled and zeroed in on the neighbourhood where bin Laden lived, an information technology professional kept tweeting about the raid, oblivious to the significance of what he was witnessing. 'Go away helicopter', he wrote, threatening to go after the whirligig with a 'giant swatter'.
In the event, he didn't and bin Laden's plans to put up his feet and direct a bit of mayhem from a wealthy Abbottabad mansion came to naught. With popular imagination replacing the harsh terrains and dark caverns of Afghanistan with a comfortable mansion as the bin Laden hideout, online jokes flew thick and fast surrounding the life and death of this incendiary icon. A couple of months ago, a fake Twitter profile, claiming to belong to bin Laden, had declared that the best part of his job was that he "got to work from home".
That the proponent of holy wars was found at Abbottabad, a little further up from Islamabad is just as well, some speculated - there is, after all, no place called 'Ecclesisbad'. Others reflected on the precariousness of life in Pakistan, where even bin Laden is not safe.
The after-life got its share of attention too: what were the odds that there was a submarine somewhere in Davy Jones's locker, near bin Laden's watery grave, ready to whisk him away to Libya? What, indeed, would happen, if the 72 houris that he encountered turned out to be infidels? The rest wondered at what seemed like an extended Disney weekend on earth: the pageantry of a prince getting married followed by the death of the 'bad guy'. And everyone lived happily ever after or till we tweet again.