While the American magazine market basically falls apart, things are just hopping over in India, where the world's largest democracy is pumping out local editions of Vogue, GQ, Maxim, and, among the newest arrivals, People. (We hear Bollywood is big.)

What's this you say about ad page declines? Circulation drop offs?

Not in India, where ad pages are expected to grow by 20 percent to $302 million this year. So what's so different about the Indian market? Not that much, actually. Besides the ads for skin lightening cream that fill women's magazines — Estee Lauder does brisk business reinforcing racist stereotypes — there are more similarities than anything. Among them: True to its brand, Maxim pushes the taste boundary; Women's magazines are service-y; Listicles are big.

Oh — and if the magazine pushers working the streets to unload these books don't meet their numbers, they get their asses beat.

India relies on an unorthodox street-side distribution system for more than half of all of its magazine sales. In major cities, packs of young boys stand in traffic islands in the middle of highways, holding up the latest copy of a glossy, and yelling “Vogue, madam? Indian Vogue! Golf Digest?” into the windows of stopped cars.

While many of these new magazines may cost 100 rupees an issue, these boys usually earn much less than that a day; they receive a commission from their boss, usually a middleman who gets a commission from what he sells from a magazine distributor, who in turn buys the magazines from the publisher for a fraction of the cover price.

Publishers in India say the system is something they have little control over, and liken street-side magazine distribution to the American paper route, a way for children to earn a little extra money. But the children selling the magazines tell a different tale.

“If on a particular day my sales are poor, then I am abused by my employer, at times beaten as well,” said Sonu Kunar, a 12-year-old boy selling a variety of local and Western titles at the intersection of two busy New Delhi roads. Sonu says he works from 9 in the morning until 8 in the evening, and earns about 1,000 rupees, or $23.15, a month. He lives with 13 other children in a small room, and sends all the money he earns back to his family in the eastern state of Bihar. [NYT]

Interesting, because that's not so dissimilar as to what American magazine sales crews face:

If sellers missed quota regularly or complained about the job, Mr. Simpson, 23, said he hit them while in their room or when they were alone in the van. On more than 30 occasions, he estimated, he and several other enforcers drew blood. In three instances, ambulances were called, he said. Dealing with the police was not a problem.

“You have one kid saying he was jumped and 20 others plus two managers saying he stole something or broke into a room and assaulted a girl,” Mr. Simpson said. “Who do you think the cops are going to believe?”

Daivet McClinton, 23, an enforcer who worked with Mr. Simpson, said talking in front of others about wanting to quit invited the worst beatings.

Asked if they ever went overboard, both men recalled an incident in November 2005 involving an 18-year-old recruit from Dayton, Ohio, named Rudy. “All we were told was that Rudy had shoved and disrespected the manager,” Mr. Simpson said.

For 10 uninterrupted minutes in a motel stairwell in San Francisco, Mr. Simpson, Mr. McClinton and four other enforcers beat Rudy unconscious, Mr. Simpson and Mr. McClinton said. One held his mouth shut. Two others pinned down his arms and legs. Tearing off his shirt, they pressed a flaming lighter into his back. Mr. Simpson kicked him in the face and body. “I stopped because I ran out of breath,” Mr. Simpson said.

Rudy, they said, was taken away in an ambulance. [NYT]