The day had arrived. Twitter would never be the same again. News had broken out that the man, the legend himself, Superstar Rajinikanth, would be making his debut on the microblogging site soon.

But when? And at what time? Nobody knew. But they knew he would come when he had to. Millions were eager and more than looking forward to catching Thalaivar on Twitter. The previous evening witnessed a rare sight. Everywhere, boys and men, single and married, techie and non-techie, had accompanied their mothers and wives to shop for pooja items. While a fraction of them had thanked their lucky stars for having preserved some 1000-wala crackers from Deepavali purchases, many more frantically wandered around in search of some more.

Sensing a massive business opportunity, Sivakasi based Standard Fireworks set up stalls all over Tamil Nadu impromptu, with huge stocks of 1000-walas, selling them at sky-rocketing prices. Talk about profit!

Tamil Nadu, which usually wakes up by 4 am, was wide awake at 3 am on the big day. NRIs on the other side of the globe left office early and headed straight home, bracing themselves for what was going to be the biggest digital occasion of their lives. The Kangaroos, Kiwis and the Japanese decided to go to work after lunch. Everywhere, everyone was logged in to Twitter. They didn’t care. Many in India sent “As I am suffering from fever” sick leave emails to their bosses who completely empathized with their situation. They surely wouldn’t do anything else for the day. Thousands in India performed sandhyavandhanam early in the morning, praying for a successful digital debut for their one and only superstar.

Mothers were woken up earlier than usual. They were asked for pooja apparatus by their boys who hadn’t used any of those items since ages. A matchbox, incense sticks, camphor, veeboothi, kungumam / kumkum, sandalwood paste were all in place in every household. A glass of milk was ready too.

Last, but not the least, coconuts were duly stocked. “Dei, I want to make chutney today, I need this!” pleaded a mother. “Ditch the chutney, I need this today. More than ever,” replied her young lad. With all the apparatus set up, a million lads hammered the coconuts hard on the floor, right in front of their computer screens. Screams of “THALAIVAR VAAZHGA!” accompanied the cracking of the coconuts into thousands of pieces. Sleeping neighbors, a scant number, woke up startled. They had no choice. Superstar mania had engulfed the world yet again.

With the breaking of coconuts, the wait had officially begun. Computer screens worldwide had Twitter’s “people” search results that were frantically refreshed, waiting for one new profile to appear. To no avail. Twitter India’s office was mobbed by fan clubs of the superstar. With bated breath, they all waited for the moment. The instructions to the Twitter India chief Rishi Jaitly and news head Raheel Khursheed were clear. As soon as the account was created, it would be frozen for five minutes just for fans. No activity on the profile would be processed. Any updates made to the profile would be deferred and reflect only after five minutes. For now, the refreshing continued. There was still no sign of the profile. They waited and waited.

The IRCTC website loaded lighting-fast in comparison. People booked Tatkal tickets in less than a minute. The wait seemed like eternity. Until one occasion. This time, the page took a little longer than usual to refresh. The anti-clockwise rotation on the browser tab kept going a little longer. Fans suddenly looked up, their faces slowly beginning to beam. Their breathing had stopped. Eyelids did not bat. Fists were tightly clutched and chins rested on them. And finally, the page loaded, line by line, a la Windows 95 wallpapers. The account list was different this time. A handle called @superstarrajini appeared. Right on Top.

Extraordinarily deafening roars and whistles were heard all over the world. Notes of cash were hurled in front of a million computer screens. At the Times Now office in Mumbai, Arnab Goswami’s voice was reduced to a whisper, even as he kept hollering about Priyanka Gandhi. The wild screams of Times Now officials drowned Arnab’s voice for the first time in history. As instructed, Rishi Jaitly and Raheel Khursheed quickly locked the superstar’s profile and froze it from having any updates for five minutes.

The profile recorded countless simultaneous clicks and as it loaded the apparatus in each home was readied. Matchboxes were quickly opened. Matches were struck hard against the boxes, lit up after hurried attempts and brought in quick contact with the camphor, which was placed on the aarti plates. The anti-clockwise rotations on the browser tabs had stopped. The profile had arrived. This was it! Fans, in full devotion, held the camphor aarti plates in their hands and circled them clockwise, performing the grand aarti.

After three rounds, they passed on the fumes towards their computer screens, where the superstar’s profile lay frozen, with a stylish pic of the Thalaivar. The next step was the garlanding. Fragrance of fresh flowers was pervasive, as fans all over placed garlands on their desktops, laptops, iPads, tablets and what not, honoring the Superstar.

As time was running out, things proceeded soon. Pinches of Veeboothi, Kungumam / Kumkum and sandalwood paste each were placed on the small rectangular profile pic area on the profile, where the Superstar’s forehead was. It was not so easy placing these on the exact spot in between the eyebrows. Rajinikanth may be superhuman, but he was still no Sonakshi Sinha.

Finally, it was time. Time, for the most exciting, the most pious and the holiest of all the rituals. Milkmen had a field day. It was a day of unexpected booming business. Kids usually never drank milk, but today, they bought milk in excess. Tumblers of milk were held. They were taken slowly towards the tops of the screens. Often, quite a bit of it was spilled on the way, on to the chairs, the keyboards and computer mouses, as hands were trembling. This was the moment they had all been waiting for and the goosebumps were visible now, more than ever. They were perspiring. They had stopped respiring. All in front of the one figure that, to them, was most inspiring. Their hearts had stopped beating. Tears streamed down their eyes as they slowly tilted their tumblers.

Streams of milk began to flow down computer screens, right through the small circular webcams on top, through the profile pic of Rajinikanth and through his one-line bio, through his empty tweet count/followers/following bar, through his empty timeline and down to the tables, as millions knelt on the ground, threw their hands up in the air and let out tearful screams of “THALAIVAA!” This might have been the biggest concurrent computer screen massacre in world history, but it had to be done. Come what may, there was no way fans would welcome Rajinikanth without the paal abhishekam.

Time was running out. They couldn’t slack down. They had rapidly done everything so far. They just couldn’t let go now. They just couldn’t let the emotion of the moment overwhelm them. They had a final ritual to be completed. Packets were opened and 1000-walas were spread out in front of the computers. Incense sticks were brought in contact with the naked black threads. The explosions began all over Tamil Nadu within bedrooms. Servant maids asked for extra pay, in order to clean all the cracker mess. Parents cringed and obliged. They had no choice. Time was up. The Superstar’s profile was unlocked. The refresh button was pressed immediately and the follower count read “500.”

Another refresh happened. This time the count read “2000.” Soon, after nearly an hour, it showed 30K. A blue tick mark appeared next to the handle. Posters began to be designed by fan clubs. “Successfully verified all over!” read some. “50K followers! Maarana mass!” read another. Things hit a crescendo, when BJP PM candidate Narendra Modi joined the party, by clicking a selfie with the superstar’s Twitter profile and tweeting it. The next thing we know, Twitter crashed.