The Dashrath Rangashala Stadium in Tripureshwor is playing host to an International Wrestling Festival on April 16. Organised in partnership with Nepal Ring Wrestling Federation and a Japanese wrestling promotions company called Pro Wrestling Zero1, the festival brings in wrestlers from 11 countries ranging from Mongolia to Ireland. The event is a charity function, raising money for post-earthquake rebuilding efforts, and is expected to attract a staggering 15,000 attendees.

I had the chance to catch up with some of the wrestlers in the gym while training for Saturday’s match up. I found them in a gritty, small, brick building, on a side street near Thamel. It was not the kind of fitness club I was expecting with elaborate facilities—just free-weights, benches and a few basic machines. In one corner the wrestler from New Zealand explained the importance of a high-protein diet to his considerably smaller Japanese colleague, while in the other the female wrestler from Mongolia did sit-ups. When I finally sat down with three of the wrestlers, Shawn Guinness from Ireland, James Raideen from New Zealand, and Buffa from the United States (their stage names), I was immediately struck by their humility and openness when explaining their work and their rather unconventional life-paths. From watching TV wrestling, I had expected more brawn and big egos, but this was hardly the case.

They casually explained that wrestling in Japan meant doing what was impossible back home—namely making their passion a full-time job. Pro wrestling enjoys worldwide popularity, and is an industry developed and dominated by the WWE, which generated over USD 600 million in 2015 alone. Despite its success and global reach, the WWE uses a relatively tiny roster of “superstars”, making jobs for aspiring professional wrestlers scarce and in extremely high demand. For some professional wrestlers then, working overseas in eclectic markets (where their “exotic” backgrounds are highly prized) is the best option for employment.

Driven by the WWE’s success and expansion, pro wrestling has taken hold in unexpected markets, including Nepal. For example, the WWE earlier this year hosted its first event in Delhi, and now offers Hindi commentary on its televised programmes. Because of its global reach, Local hero Kamal Tamang AKA ‘Nuwakote Tiger’ grew up with wrestling in much the same way as his international counterparts. “When I was young,” said Tamang, “ I used to watch WWF on TV and follow wrestlers like Shawn Michaels and The Undertaker. In the beginning, my family didn’t support my decision to become a wrestler. My mother was worried that it was too violent and that I would end up injured”. Pro wrestling may be staged, but the movements are real and accidents do happen. For example, the four-corner all-female rumble planned for the afternoon’s event will be reduced to three wrestlers, as one woman was injured earlier in the week during training.

While pro-wrestling is to most synonymous with the WWE, what separates Japanese pro-wrestling (and this afternoon’s event) from the WWE is that less emphasis is placed on the accompanying soap-opera storylines, and more intense physical contact is made when wrestlers strike each other. As the wrestler from New Zealand, James Raideen, explained, “If we were to bring the Japanese style of wrestling back home with us, our opponents would get pretty messed up, because we hit a lot harder than they do.”

The biggest difference I encountered, however, was that while wrestlers in the WWE are candid off-stage like actors discussing the characters they play, the wrestlers I spoke with were far more ambiguous when asked directly if their sport was real. It is as if there is taboo around acknowledging the scripted nature of the event. This ambiguity continued when I playfully asked the president of the Nepal Ring Wrestling Federation, Sunita Thapa, whether she could tell me who Saturday’s champion would be. She asserted they had no way of knowing who would win, and that it was the decision of the referee alone, for they were a sport. At the time, I was immediately confused, thinking I had accidently pursued a story about serious Olympic-style competitive wrestling. I then bluntly asked whether her type of wrestling was fake wrestling, or Olympic wrestling, but again her response was evasive. “If wrestling were fake how could we have so many injuries?” When I finally gave up and announced my confusion, she gave a wry smile and asked, “Are you confused, or are we making you confused?”

Professional wrestling is unique in that lies at the nexus between sport and theatre. With their level of physique and use of gymnastics and choreography, it is impossible to say that they are not athletes. Still, given the scripted nature of their performance, one could never consider pro wrestling a sport, in the same way that boxing is. Ultimately, wrestling is fake, and that’s why it’s impressive, because the art of it lies in the ability to fake it properly, and with style.

Anyone can pretend to fight, but it takes an immense amount of skill and training to have giant men throw themselves at each other with flying elbows and have no one permanently injured by the exchange. With this in mind, the question the viewer should be asking themselves is not whether wrestling is real or fake, but whether the moves were choreographed and executed with finesse and technical expertise, and whether the whole spectacle was entertaining.

(Harris is the co-founder of the Art Haus of Kathmandu)