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The jungle practically envelops the Parmarth Niketan ashram.

Monkeys toddle around and butterflies of black, yellow, orange and blue dance in the gardens.

But this is India after all.

They burn the garbage next to the yoga hall during class and you have to lower your standards of clean or you’ll just be frustrated the entire time.

Ashrams are basic. My needs are met and I’m supposed to spend some time thinking about what more I really need in life. I have a bed and three meals a day. I even have hot water. Not all of the students do.

The bathroom has at least four leaks. But it does have a flush toilet and you can even put toilet paper down it. (Not common in the developing world.)

This place is a huge campus with multi-story high concrete buildings on the end of a shopping district catering to the yoga students. The shops supply us with fruits and juice that we cannot get at the ashram and the white clothes we’re required to wear for yoga class. A few Internet café/travel agents, bookstores and restaurants round out how the community has learned to fill the needs and wants of the yoga students.

I have more ashrams to visit and I’ve learned that if I ever were to do a yoga teacher course I’d want to know a lot about the location and the teacher. I don’t know that I could live here for five weeks but it’s been a pleasure meeting my fellow yoga students and being involved in this community.

The teaching students I have met said this was more about learning the spiritual side of yoga and its history. The physical aspects of poses they can learn anywhere.

So here’s an accounting of a day at the ashram.

I’m lucky when I get to sleep all the way until 5:30 a.m.

My 10 a.m. alarm in California seems so far away. So does my bed. This mattress is smaller than the second digit on my pointer finger.

A mechanized gong and bell system rings at 4:45 a.m. for the Indians who stay here to attend the morning service.

With my earplugs, I can sometimes sleep through the chanting of the service but the gong usually has already woken me up.

I throw on my white harem pants and white tunic, brush my teeth with purified water and head to class to the 6 a.m. yoga-prep class. Some days this feels more like calisthenics than yoga but it’s supposed to prep us to do the asanas, or poses, at 4 p.m.

Lots of leg raises, sit-ups and twisted arm bends venturing on a Jane Fonda video.

We blow our noses and then squeeze our faces to forcefully breathe out of our noses in pace with the teacher for a minute to start our pranayama practice. Holding one nostril closed, we do the same until we alternate. This is supposed to help use build concentration. It does clear out my sinuses in a way only the curry can.

Sometimes I’m exhausted enough to take a short nap before the 8:30 a.m. breakfast, usually a rice and lentils mix with peppers and tons of salt. Sometimes it’s even worse. But a hot cup of chai makes up for it. And if I can’t take it, I head down the street for yogurt, muesli, fruit and honey all for less than $2.

The next round of classes focuses on the chants and lessons. The first week we studied the Bhagavad Gita, the sacred scripture of India, and learned some of the mantras we would use in class and ceremonies. Now, we’re discussing yoga and still trying to learn how to sing in Sanskrit. While I don’t understand it all, I am respectful and find it fascinating how India has managed to keep such an ancient religion alive.

Afterward, we clean the yoga hall with brooms that don’t get the job done and dirty rags wrapped around squeegees. The floor is never particularly clean but it’s better than it was.

From the 1 p.m. until 4 p.m. asana practice the afternoon is ours. Lunch varies but usually involves a lentil soup or curry and some sort of potatoes mixed with anything from pickles to peppers. All heavy on salt and Indian spices. I eat it all with a lot of rice and chipatti (an unleavened, whole wheat pita type bread). On occasion, we’ll get rice pudding.

I read, write, run errands, buy jewelry, go to the Internet café.

The asana practice has improved but can still be frustrating. I know it’s about your practice and not the teacher. She is sweet but has difficulty keeping track of right and left and has us do more repetitions of a pose instead of holding it.

My frustration with her lack of instructions for the true beginners in the class makes it difficult but I try to attend with an open mind. She does lead an excellent meditation if I can stay awake through it.

Then again, everyone “working” here does so as “seva.” They’re giving to the cause, not for money. I think you get what you pay for. The 10-day course cost me $250, including lodging and meals.

By the time we’re out of class, people are already crowding on the banks of the Ganges for Aarti. With great commotion, the Swamiji descends the stairs and begins singing with others from the ashram.

After a few songs, candles are lit and people push and shove to reach one. Grabbing the candleholder, multiple people hold it and move it clockwise in a circle. Others will wave their hand over it and then over their heads to symbolize spreading the divine’s knowledge over you.

With more singing, the service ends and the Guru is escorted back to the ashram across the street where he sits in his garden and takes questions or blesses people. The advice from him and his second-in-command, resembles that of any good therapist.

Usually invoking parables, they help people confront questions of forgiveness and mixing spirituality with intellect and emotion.

Dinner ends the day and may well resemble what was served at lunch.

I aim to be in bed by 10 p.m. but I’m not always tired. How that’s possible I’m not sure.