Lahore, Pakistan
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On a wet monsoon night in Pakistan’s bustling Lahore city, the generators flickered with sputtering and lights, and the Maniacs lights flickered.
Three of the world’s top 10 players in the classic Japanese fighting game, Tikken, are from Pakistan. They are splitting (virtual) skulls on international circuits, filling the roster of profitable Saudi Arabian support teams and bringing back tens of thousands of dollars in prize money.
This is a punchy statistic for a country well known for recurrent political turmoil and for a country well known for where PlayStation or PC is higher than the average monthly income. The electricity required to power is not always guaranteed.
The first Tekken was announced in 1994, and the franchise is now the eighth installment, with millions of copies sold each time a new version is released. Players choose the path to punch, kick, chop and knockout from fighter stables such as Kung-Fu experts, space ninjas, and giant pandas.
It’s not the most popular game in the billion-dollar esports market, but it’s an advantage. In August, Korean gamer Ulsan won a $250,000 prize after winning the esports World Cup with Tekken 8.
The Pakistani iron fist champion is a quietly guaranteed 30-year-old Arsaran “Ash” Siddiq from Lahore. He wore a team shirt with his game name on his back when he met CNN in the coworking space in the lush suburbs of Lahore where he trains. The room was small, but his trophies were scattered, with golden consoles glittering between the anime figurines on the shelves. In a bustling market nearby, he featured it in a telecom company billboard ad.
Practices for 8 hours a day, Ash is a former ESPN eSports Player of the Year and the first Red Bull athlete from Pakistan. He won five consecutive evolution championship series. This is a global tournament that focuses solely on fighting games. On a weekend like Ritz in August in Las Vegas, he won his sixth Evo and took home a $12,000 prize.
The final in Las Vegas was an all-Pakistan event, with Ash defeating his friend Atif Batt and spending weeks at Lahore Studios practicing punches, kicks and chop combos.
But like many other gamers in Pakistan, their skills were fake in public arcades like Maniax. Playing Tekken in a private measure that forks nearly $700 for a PlayStation is out of reach for most people in Pakistan, with an average monthly salary of $300.
Later that night, at Maniacs, turbulent game chairs were scattered and rainwater penetrated through the enormous windows. The popular Bollywood song “Dirce” was played throughout the speakers, with intentional gamers pounding the console in a flash of thunderstorms. In the corner, a young man repaired an arcade joystick and repaired a customized joystick. This is a valuable item that is not available in the country and is a retailer for around $300.
Bawaqar Haider (35), who goes by the game name Soul Dagger, is one of the co-founders of Maniax and has been a Tekken fan since he was a child. In his arcade, he says, “You’re basically no discrimination…the entire arcade is mostly skill-driven.”
Arcade Culture has become a driving force behind Tekken’s popularity in Pakistan, Butt says.
The game was relatively easy to use and he said the arcade was installed in the 1990s and early 2000s, making it “easier to get” for younger gamers.
Haider believes that Pakistan’s hard-scrabble environment has created “ruthlessness” among young gamers. The majority of the country’s under-30 demographic (approximately 170 million people) grew up in the shadow of political instability, violence and an economy that is constantly hiding from crisis to crisis.
Their desire to succeed in arcades and international tournaments comes from “hunger and deprivation that outweighs the world around them.”
Without a console at home, Ash began playing Tekken at the age of seven in his hometown of Lahore.
He will spend days and hours each year until 2012, when he realized he needed a new challenge.
“I felt a bit sad,” Ash told CNN. “Because there was no more competition in Pakistan.”
He wants to broaden his horizons, but with limited financial means, Ash turns to his friend for help. They pooled money to help him pay for the airline ticket, but there were other obstacles to foreign travel.
Pakistan has one of the weakest passports in the world, and Ash had no financial or travel history to obtain visas from countries such as Japan and the US. This is an esports hotspot with strict visa requirements for Pakistani citizens.
It’s a problem that continues to irritate the ashes.
After a grand victory over the South Korean national team in Seoul in March, he spoke about the difficulties Visa and his fellow Pakistani gamers face in creating a career by playing Visa and Tekken.
“We can’t travel anywhere. The sponsors don’t sponsor players because the players don’t have a visa,” he said.
Not having a visa is a “major issue,” Ash told CNN.
“No matter how talented we are, if we can’t go outside, if we can’t show talent, it’s not worth it.”
He also sought the government’s support to create an ecosystem for Pakistan’s esports. He feels “no infrastructure… not just for e-Aviation, but for all kinds of esports.”
Ash’s concerns are not unheard of. Rana Mashud, chairman of the Prime Minister Youth Program, told CNN that efforts are underway to develop Pakistan’s first esports policy, including the establishment of the game’s “arena and coworking space.”
Pakistan’s closely woven iron fist community has helped to promote a strong foundation for young gamers, but it is mostly dominated by young men.
21-year-old Laiba Adnan is a female gamer who is making waves in a female-only Tekken circle. A big fan of Ash, she’s not comfortable going to the arcade.
Adnan said he hopes the arcade will be more “female-centric” due to the paved roads.
“I think Tekken has really changed the way many people around the world see Pakistan. They now think we are working very hard… these are things that crush 24/7. They are a huge inspiration for me.”
When Ash and his team defeated South Korea in March, he gave a viral speech to the cheers of “Long Live Pakistan” in a Seoul auditorium.
He sought “a new generation of young people in Pakistan pursue their dreams and showcase their talents on the world stage.”
Sitting back in the Lahore studio, smiling between his trophies, Ash is confident about what lies ahead for him and the player he inspired.
“The future,” he says.
