For the first 10 minutes I don’t get a word in. Mandira Bedi, who is starting to give Shilpa Shetty a run for her money with her recent share of controversies, walks in with an entourage of a Basset hound and a Labrador, sits cross-legged on the sofa and says, “Ok, so let’s get the controversies out of the way.”

Bedi has, understandably, been keeping a low profile since the World Cup. Instead of Indian players, this World Cup saw Bedi trying to fend off one controversy after another. First, it was a tattoo of a Sikh religious symbol on her back, which incensed a section of the Sikh community. Then it was the Indian flag, which hung innocently just below her knee on the World Cup final. But she is not out with guns blazing. “It was a World Cup of an apologetic performance by India and apologies from my end,” she says. Snuggling deeper into a fluffy chair in her first floor living room, Bedi does not appear anything like the statuesque Sikh she looks like on screen.

She is chirpy and uses urban lingo, smattered with “you knows” and “whatevers.” With infectious energy, she could be mistaken for your girlfriend from school — the one who used to be a tomboy before she turned into a swan.

After switching to a more optimistic subject and obliging the very gleeful Buster, the Basset hound, with a tickle, Bedi mentions that the plot her house in Mumbai’s Bandra stands on was actually meant to be a swimming pool. That explains its odd shape and curious corners and sudden windows. But Bedi is visibly proud of it. As she is of being featured in the April issue of Better Homes and Gardens.

Strangely, last month, two Bedis smiled down from magazine stalls. Depending on your fetish, you could either go for the demure, sari-clad Bedi, beaming proudly about her house, or you could go for the more popular version — the bikini-clad Bedi, frolicking on wet grass on the cover of Maxim. No prizes for guessing which one was sold out. I mention the dichotomy in the image and she springs up with glee. “I wanted someone to notice that! Thank you! For Better Homes and Gardens, I was showing off my house, which I did from scratch. And Maxim is a boys’ magazine. Someone look at it (the two images) for its versatility, for God’s sake.”

Versatility, yes, you have to give her that. From her launchpad role of Shanti in India’s first afternoon soap to an itsy-bitsy role in a Yash Chopra family blockbuster, to hosting a controversial cricket show to an item number in a film down South and now, as a glamourous pin-up in a men’s magazine, Bedi has pretty much exhausted the list. So does that reflect a lack of focus or a lack of serious offers?

Neither, claims Bedi. “The Hindi film industry can’t quite put a finger on what to do with me. I get offered a bhabhi’s role, a sister’s role, an item number, a lead role. That’s quite an array. Normally, women who play the bhabhi/sister kind of role will never do an item number.”

Just as the conversation is getting interesting, Raj Kaushal, Bedi’s husband, pops in, to order us down to lunch. A short scuffle ensues between Bedi and Kaushal as to whether to let the dogs drool under the table while we eat. Kaushal’s father looks stoically on as Bedi’s friends and family happily dig into the fried fish while conversing in smooth Bengali.

Bedi’s Bengali connection is more than just fish fry. She was born in Calcutta and her name carries that baggage. “My name couldn’t be more Bong, Mondira. My mum was very influenced by Calcutta at that time. My name was to start with the letter M and the choices were Mallika, Mandira and Malini. Mum being in Cal liked the name Mandira. It was unusual,” she explains. Her husband too is a Bengali but she dismisses it saying he is a Bombay Bong.

The Bedis, in turn, moved from Calcutta to Mumbai to Delhi. Her father worked for ICI, and they lived in a “gorgeous” flat in Malabar Hill. But when Mandira was 22, her parents moved to Delhi. She shacked up in Worli in a servants’ quarter that was let out as a PG.

Bedi frequents Calcutta much more now than in her younger years, having baptised the city as the sports capital of India. “I don’t know which is more vehement — the Bengali cricket fan or the Bengali football fan. But I like the sports connection in Calcutta.”

Bedi’s house, like her, is eclectic. The TV room is lined with DVDs of films and TV shows, while the living room is a mélange of cushions, velvet lampshades and golden candelabra. From a corner another avatar of Bedi peeks out, looking like a cross between Bedi and Jassi. She pulls it out and it is a poster for an unreleased film, Meerabai, Not Out. She says, “Meerabai, Not Out was supposed to release in April because of the World Cup. But then the boys exited the tournament and suddenly cricket was taboo. I play a hard core cricket fan in the film. Through the film, I wear salwaar kameezes and glasses and have a long plait, but that’s not to say I am doing a Jassi.”

Jassi, Shanti, Mandira — it is difficult to put a finger on her. A few minutes back she was the professional interviewee but now she sits with all her concentration focused on a packet of Maltesers. Like a 15-year-old, Bedi, who is 35, looks over her shoulder to check if Kaushal is looking and quickly passes two chocolates to the dogs.

Bedi insists that all she has done till now has been a matter of chance and luck. “It has all been about being at the right place at the right time,” she says. If she hadn’t been noticed for Shanti by director Adi Pocha during an apprenticeship with adman Prahlad Kakkar, Bedi — who did her masters in media studies from Sophia College in Mumbai — would have been a “senior creative something” in an ad agency. Cricket happened the same way. “I had gone to Sri Lanka to watch India at the semi finals of the Champions Trophy. People from Sony saw me there and they had me at the back of their minds as an anchor. I don’t like plans. Sure, I want a family, but you can’t say ok, this is the year of my life I will dedicate to getting pregnant.”

So with all this myriad role playing, where does it leave her? She unequivocally agrees that everything she plays has an impact on her. “A lot of Shanti rubbed off on me. She wasn’t a crusader like Rajni but she was fighting for justice. For example, everyone was complaining about the food on the set, people were falling sick. So one day I brought a dabba from home, filled it with the lunch which was served, took it to the UTV producers and challenged them to eat it. It was good to take up a cause. And yes, the food improved,” she says.

Shanti might be history but cricket is not. Much as Bedi would like to put the last World Cup to rest, she can’t. Two lawsuits have been filed against her for dishonouring the national flag and she still has to fight them out. “It was a disaster World Cup in every way for me. After the 2003 World Cup, I was looking forward to this but the timing was really bad,” she rues. The Maxim cover was shot six months ago to be timed with the Champions Trophy but it was held back, only to be launched in time with the other controversies Bedi is grappling with. “I really didn’t think the Maxim pictures would come out the way they did. They happened and it’s over with. It’s not something I will do again,” she adds pensively.

But cricket, sure, she will. Never mind that she called Bhajji a left arm spinner — she is still there. “I am there as a representative of the cricket fan and I will never try to be an expert. I am not a purist. I am not one of those people who make notes and learn statistics. I have been called an airhead but I am not one. I have come to accept the fact that you can’t please everyone all the time. But I have also learnt when to keep my mouth shut.”

She remembers one incident from 2003 as she gets up to squash a wayward cockroach. “A journalist on an interview with me asked what I liked about the World Cup most. I said, each tournament throws up new names and creates new heroes. And he said, one new heroine. That was great.”

Bedi’s life till now has been like a Twenty20 game. You never know what will happen. “And that’s how I like it,” she says.