Sunil is a humble, warm-hearted street food vendor in a small town in Punjab. Every day he rises before dawn to grind spices, knead dough and prepare parathas, chole, lassi and samosas for his loyal customers. The stall is his lifeline, and through it he has been able to raise his four daughters after the early loss of his wife. Outwardly he is cheerful and hardworking, but inside he carries a quiet pain — he never had a son. In the conservative environment around him, people gossip and joke: “Four girls and no boy?” “Who will carry the family name?” “Who will take care of him in old age?” These remarks sting even though he tries to laugh them off. He sometimes finds himself daydreaming about what life would have been like if he had a son to help him at the stall and guard the family. Yet the reality is that his daughters are his world. Each is unique: the eldest is practical and responsible, the second is fiery and outspoken, the third has a keen sense for business and cooking, and the youngest is sensitive but ambitious. Together they form a lively household full of laughter, disagreements and dreams. Even while they help at home and sometimes at the stall, they study hard and imagine bigger futures for themselves. But Sunil’s inner conflict makes him both proud of and anxious about them; he worries about their safety, about their marriages, about society’s judgment. These mixed feelings sometimes spill over into small arguments or overprotective decisions that frustrate the girls. One day a sudden tragedy strikes. While returning from the market with supplies, Sunil is hit by a vehicle and suffers injuries that leave him unable to work for a long stretch. The small savings he has cannot last, and the household faces an immediate financial crisis. The daughters, after a night of tears and debate, decide to take over their father’s food stall themselves. It is a bold move in a town where women rarely run street-side businesses, but necessity leaves no choice. They wake up before dawn to prepare food, haul heavy containers, manage suppliers and serve customers. At first the experience is harsh. Some regulars doubt their ability, some rival vendors spread rumors, some men make mocking comments. The girls feel overwhelmed but refuse to give up. They learn to cook in larger batches, to handle cash, to negotiate with wholesalers, to talk back politely to rude customers. Slowly, day by day, they win people over. Quality food and warm service start to draw crowds again. Neighbors who once whispered begin to nod with respect. The daughters discover inner strengths they didn’t know they had — leadership, teamwork, problem solving — and a sense of independence blossoms. They also begin to see their father differently: his years of sacrifice, his unspoken fears, his lonely struggle. Running the stall themselves makes them appreciate him more deeply even as it fuels their own ambitions. Meanwhile Sunil, confined to his bed and later to slow recovery, watches them with a mixture of pride and unease. On the one hand he is touched by their devotion and courage. On the other he feels displaced, almost emasculated, as if the world has confirmed his deepest fear that without a son he is weak. His internalized bias whispers that daughters should not have to shoulder such burdens. But reality keeps confronting him with their competence. This inner tug of war forms the emotional core of the story. As months turn to years, the daughters continue their studies and work, gradually shaping their own careers. The family endures financial ups and downs, health scares, and conflicts with conservative relatives who disapprove of the girls’ public roles. Yet the girls persist, balancing duty and aspiration. The father-daughter relationships go through phases of tension, reconciliation and quiet support. Five years later, when the story picks up again, each daughter has taken a distinct path. One has joined the police force, wearing the khaki uniform with pride, patrolling streets and handling law-and-order situations with firmness and empathy. Another has entered the legal world and, through grit and merit, risen to become a judge known for her fairness. A third has turned her culinary talent and business experience into a successful chef career, running her own establishment and winning awards. The youngest may be studying or running a social initiative, showing leadership in her own sphere. Their father, older and more reflective now, has stepped back from the stall but still cooks at home and quietly observes their lives. He feels proud but also guilty — guilty for ever thinking they were less because they were daughters. He recalls moments of his own harsh words and wishes he could undo them. The climax begins when Sunil returns to the town center on a special day — perhaps an inauguration, a community function or a family event — and sees all his daughters in action. He watches the police officer command respect from her colleagues, the judge deliver a thoughtful speech, the chef serve dishes that delight dignitaries. He listens as people praise them, not just for their professional success but for their character. Slowly it dawns on him that everything he once thought only a son could do, his daughters have done with grace and excellence. In a moving scene, the daughters acknowledge their father’s sacrifices publicly, telling the crowd that their strength comes from his example of hard work and honesty. They also speak against the stereotype that daughters are a burden, urging parents to invest in girls’ education and believe in their dreams. Sunil steps forward, overcome with emotion. In front of everyone he confesses his past prejudice and regret. He says he once wished for a son, but now understands that having daughters was his greatest blessing. He tells the crowd that family honor, support in old age, and legacy are not about gender but about love, values and opportunities. He praises each daughter individually, recalling small childhood incidents that showed their potential. The audience applauds, some with tears in their eyes. The moment is cathartic not just for the family but for the community, signaling a shift in attitudes. The film ends on a hopeful, celebratory note. The food stall, once a symbol of struggle, has become a family enterprise where father and daughters work together part-time when free from their professional duties. Sunil smiles easily now, greeting customers without shame or regret. The daughters balance their careers with caring for him, not out of obligation but affection. Their home is filled with laughter and mutual respect. The last shots may show the youngest girl helping him cook, echoing the opening scenes but in a completely changed atmosphere — no longer burden but pride. In the background, other fathers and mothers from the town look on, perhaps reconsidering their own views about raising daughters. Through humor, drama and heartfelt moments, the story of Kuriyan Jawan Bapu Preshaan 2 expands on the theme that daughters are not liabilities but sources of strength, and that a father’s journey from bias to acceptance can transform an entire family. It blends the struggles of everyday survival with the joy of achievement, portraying how adversity can forge character and how love, once freed from prejudice, can empower everyone. It is both a personal tale about one father and his girls and a social commentary on gender expectations in contemporary Punjab. By the end, the title — which begins as a lament about being “bapu preshaan” because of “kuriyan jawan” — flips into a proud proclamation that the same young women have made the father strong and respected. The film leaves the viewer with a message of hope, equality and the enduring bond between parent and child.